by Laura Beege
“Did you have to tell them my bloody name?” Trace growled and stepped closer.
Behind his back the pack of girls still stared at him, sipping on their straws and giggling over hushed conversations. “I’m sorry,” I said and meant it. “I didn’t think.”
“Do you ever? Think?”
I closed my eyes. I wasn’t about to count my breaths in front of him. I’d easily make it through a short, unpleasant conversation without snapping. It was all about confidence in myself and my calmness. I’d just let the anger fade away.
“I’m thinking I did you a favor. Now, you can just pick one and she will scream your name tonight, instead of God’s.” I let my lids flutter open again and stared directly into Trace’s green eyes. His forehead was wrinkled in hard thought. “I’m beat,” I said, because I wasn’t about to put up with him anymore. Stupid bagel tester. “I’m going to go find Wes.”
I just left the apron on and weaved my way through the people into the narrow hallway and up the steep staircase. I let my fingers trail along the rough walls, concentrating on every bump and every sharp edge. I could concentrate the anger away, and by the time I reached our floor I was mostly cooled down.
“Hey, are you already off?” As he smiled at me, Wes patted his jeans, checking his pockets.
“Technically I still have a minute to work, but I couldn’t stand your brother anymore. He’s just so rude. All the time. And I don’t want to spend another second pretending that it doesn’t bother me.”
“As much as I’d love to spend my night listing Trace’s many flaws, I’ve got to go. I’m meeting a… someone. A friend.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and flipped his hair to the side.
“You can tell me if you’re meeting a girl. I loved our fake quickie, but we’re not dating.”
“I know… Okay, see you tomorrow.” He leaned in to press another kiss on my temple, like the morning we had breakfast. I’d thought that had been a show for Trace.
I shook my head and swiveled around, catching him just on the landing between the floors. “Wes! About tomorrow. Do you want to go dancing with Sierra and me? I guess her husband’s coming, too. You don’t have to. She said she’d find someone if I didn’t have anyone to go, but I thought you might want to come…”
“Sure. But I really have to run.”
“Okay, bye.”
“Bye,” he laughed and sprinted off.
I finally got to see a good dose of London rain the next morning. It wasn’t just the drizzle that had popped in and out over the last few days but heavy, thick drops of water hitting the windows like hundreds of tiny jackhammers. There was no way I was passing up my first chance to get into my first London rainstorm in order to so-not-stare at my phone screen and so-not-think about the box all day. I shrugged my favorite denim jacket over my long-sleeved dress and shoved my feet into worn-out ankle boots. I wasn’t dressed for rain and it was going to be awesome.
“Umbrella’s in the lost and found box.” Trace didn’t look up from sorting the CDs next to the stereo.
I didn’t know why he cared, but he was not going to ruin my mood. “I don’t need an umbrella.”
“It’s raining.”
“Yes.”
His cocked eyebrow was pierced by a stud with pointy cones on each end today. “Do you know what rain is? Buckets of water pouring from the sky, soaking your perfect pretty dress and your perfect pretty hair.”
“You can mock me all you want. I’m going outside, and I’m going to get drenched. On purpose.” I grinned at him and twirled out the door.
The rain splintered and splashed against the concrete, and a girl had her jacket tugged over her head as she hurried past. The drops hit my skin, shattered and left behind a thin coat of water. I felt my hair flattening, giving into the weight of the water and within seconds my dress stuck to my body like a second skin.
“You’re going to get yourself killed, Kitty.”
Trace leaned in the door and glimpsed up at the grey sky. An umbrella dangled from his hand.
“It’s just water,” I shouted over the drumming sound. Trying to look at him was pointless. My eyes wouldn’t stay properly open in this weather, always reflexively squinting shut. But I didn’t care. The corners of my mouth were stapled into a wide grin. “Where should I go?”
“What?”
“I want to go somewhere. Where should I go?” I glanced down the road in each direction. There wasn’t anything too exciting either way, so it was flipping a coin or taking Trace’s suggestion.
He shrugged and stretched his thumb to the left. Left it was. I skipped in my steps and scrunched my nose at the lighter sky in the distance. Trace quickly caught up with me, the blue and pink umbrella opened above his head, and therefore mine, too. I jumped off the sidewalk to escape the umbrella. “What are you doing?”
Trace stared straight ahead with rigid shoulders. “I hate rain,” he responded, which wasn’t much of an explanation.
I wasn’t going to push him into giving me normal answers. He could walk next to me, for all I cared. The white haze of rain was as good as any wall between us. Maybe even better than our shared wall, because the rain washed out most noises.
We came to a busier street and the cars zipped past. I felt the deep urge to shower in the splashes from their wheels. I'd pretend I was still wearing bright red gumboots and a rain coat that was too big for me.
Trace mumbled something beside me, then suddenly he had a stealth grip on my elbow and yanked me into a small corner shop. My toes caught on a sharp step but Trace easily kept me pulled up.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I cried, as the warmth of the supermarket washed over me.
“I really, really hate the bloody rain.”
“You didn't have to follow me. I can find my way back to the pub. I love rain.”
“Why?” I jumped away from his gruff and loud voice. “It's terrible. Couldn't you just stay inside?”
I glanced around at the people watching Trace. Among them the wary-eyed cashier and a small girl with big blue eyes. I had to calm Trace down if I didn't want him to throw over shelves and get us both arrested.
He is easily triggered, Tony.
I hated that I was about to admit the truth to him. I hated the truth. “Because it's one of the only things I remember about my mom,” I said and heard my voice cracking. I didn't want his pity, but it was going to be better than his rage. “The weather in Tucson was one of the things she hated about home. She loved it when it rained.” I pressed my words onward, even as the memories flooded my mind. “She'd take me outside and play with me until the rain was over or it was time for bed, whichever came first, and she'd tell me that one day she was going to take me to London and we'd play in the rain for days. She didn't keep that promise, but I liked the way she laughed and the way her perfume would smell sweeter when the rain hit her skin. But she left me in Tucson and I never got to spend a single London rainstorm with her. So if you could just leave me the hell alone and let me enjoy the rain, that would be great. This actually means something to me. It’s not just water.”
When I looked up at him, he looked at me differently. I hadn't even noticed that it was any other way before, but now it was as if for the first time he looked at an actual person, and I hated the extra weight it put on my shoulders.
I quickly ducked into the candy isle and grabbed a chocolate bar and a bag of Skittles, only to come to the realization that I hadn't brought my stupid bag with the stupid money in it. I patted my pockets, but the denim jacket had been in my suitcase until this morning. Of course they only held a button, a piece of thread and a drenched slip of chewing gum.
“Dammit,” I hissed and punched the candy back onto the shelves. I felt my breath hitch in my throat. Great. Now, I was the one freaking out in public. I pressed my hands over my eyes and pushed the memories away. I opened a box in my head and stowed the betrayal in it. Mom just didn't take me with her because Dad's an ass and he would have done a
nything to make sure Mom had a hard time abandoning the sinking ship. She just took the easy way out to save herself. She didn't have the strength to fight Dad. She didn't betray me. She didn't want to leave me. I pushed all my doubts into that big, big box and locked it away in the furthest corner of my mind.
It was all good. I'd find her. I'd open the shoebox and I'd find her, and it would be new and awkward at first but she wouldn't know about all the messed up shit from home and she'd have a good daughter. One she would be willing to fight for.
“Did you want the sour or the normal Skittles?”
“Hm?” My hands fell from my face.
Trace held up the bright green and the red bag and eyed me questioningly. “I didn't see which one you had.” He also held a bar of the bitter chocolate – the exact kind, I'd just picked.
“I don't want your pity candy.”
“Oh, no, this is me bribing you into keeping your mouth shut about this. I don't need my father up my ass because I made you cry.”
“You didn't.” Just to be sure, I swiped my fingers along my lashes. Some mascara came off but not a single tear.
“Sour or sweet?”
“Green.”
“Figures.”
I let him buy me the candy. He bought a Red Bull for himself and handed me the white plastic bag. I opened it to find a pack of tissues to go along with my comfort food. Had he really expected me to cry?
By the time we were back on the street, the rain had turned back into the faint drizzle I’d come to know. Part of me felt lighter without the reminder of her, the other part regretted spending precious rain time in the shop.
“You have to get yourself cleaned up before Wes or Dad see you like this. They'd think I locked you out.”
“Okay,” I mumbled and pushed a piece of chocolate through my lips.
I didn't have to try very hard not to run into his family. I easily slipped into my room unnoticed and took fresh clothes and my towel to the bathroom without so much as hearing a beep from anyone. The mirror explained Trace's whole crying nonsense. The rain had washed my eyeliner and mascara all over my cheeks. I could've passed for a zebra. Not to mention that my blue eyes looked glossy and distant.
I knew it had been a reasonable resolution to avoid him. I should have told him to leave me alone. I didn't want to be a mess anymore.
Six
Dancing with Wesley was fun and easy, although he was a terrible dancer. That boy had not a rhythmic muscle in his body, but he kept twirling me around and around while he shouted some terribly wrong lyrics along to every Spanish song that came on.
Other than the fact that we were always a foot apart instead of grinding our bodies against each other, there was not much difference to clubbing. The lights were low, the music loud, the drinks overpriced, and the girls wore skimpy dresses and deep frowns.
“I need something to drink,” Wes yelled close to my ear.
I nodded and signaled to Sierra and Marcus, her very handsome and very in-his-forties husband, that we were heading for the bar. Wes wrapped my arm around his and towed me through the tight crowd towards the bar that was decorated with all sorts of exotic flowers. I tugged on a waxy leave to see if they were real. It came off. Crap. I hoped nobody had seen that. I shoved the plastic leave into my skirt's pocket and tried to look as innocent as possible.
“Here you go.” Wes turned around, grinning widely over two blue cocktails.
I eyed the Blue Hawaii extended to me. “I don't drink.”
“Oh, right, you have to wait until you're 21 in America, right? You can try it, though. It's not that strong.”
“No, I mean, yes, technically you have to wait, but I don't generally drink alcohol.” He seemed irritated, at loss with an extra drink in his hands. I smiled apologetically and shrugged. “I'm sorry. I should have told you.”
“No, no, it’s okay. Maybe Sierra wants this one.”
“Or you could try to pick up a girl with it. I’m pretty sure most girls like having cocktails bought for them.”
Wesley’s eyes immediately darted to the other end of the bar. I didn’t have to turn around to know he was staring at some chick with a short skirt and high heels.
“Are you sure?” He asked, still focused on his target.
“Yes. Go. You’re a handsome, nice guy who deserves someone special.”
“Thanks, Tony.” He didn’t leave without the kiss on my hair that I was slowly getting used to. But once that was done, he maneuvered off.
I sat down on a stool and tried to keep track of his head of side-swept hair. It was fairly easy since the men in his family were all tall enough to stand out in a crowd. I ordered a coke and watched as Wes steered towards a small group of girls. They all wore tiaras, like they were on a bachelorette party. And then Wes talked to the only guy of their group. A skinny guy with blond streaked hair, who gladly accepted the drink. Wes bent down to talk into the skinny guy’s ear and the skinny guy turned his head to respond into Wesley’s ear.
An “Oh” escaped my throat.
I’d been pretty sure that Wes had flirted with me a number of times since I’d gotten here. I couldn’t have been imagining that, right? I reflected on the winking and the grinning. Yeah, he had definitely flirted with me, but had he done that when we were alone? Or was it all for show?
Oh. It made a lot more sense now, that he’d have his brother think we were sleeping together. Trace probably didn’t know, and I wasn’t going to tell him that Wesley was flirting with a boy merely a few feet away from me. Maybe I shouldn’t have watched, but it was nice to see them both at ease, smiling and leaning in again and again to have hushed conversations.
“Darling, how did you do that?”
I spun around to Sierra. Her jaw was close to the floor as she stared at Wes and his…guy.
“What?” I shuffled in front of her, trying to hide the boys behind my back. If Wesley didn’t want people to know, I could make that happen somehow.
She shifted her weight to look past me. “I’ve been trying for months to make him take action.”
“You have?” I mumbled, drawing my eyebrows together. So maybe only Trace and Alex didn’t know. I’d have to make Wes give me the exact details, so I’d know what to say to whom.
“Yes, yes, but he kept finding random girls to make out with and afterwards complain to me about because it didn’t feel good or something like that.”
Marcus moved up behind her and handed her a bottled drink while snaking his arm around her mid. Sierra needed no more invitation than that, she immediately pulled him into one very, very affectionate PDA. Suddenly everybody I knew was tangled up in intimacies and I stood in the middle of a Latin dance bar by myself. Oh my God, was Sierra seriously touching him down there? Her hand most definitely snuck into his pants’ pocket. Oh God, I shouldn’t even be watching this. I shouldn’t be here in the first place.
I’d come to London to find my mom, not to make friends and help some guy hook up with some other guy. I hadn’t come here to go dancing and watch a waitress give her way-too-old husband an almost hand job in public. I tore myself away from the scene and bolted right out the door and into the next cab. I’d had enough for one night.
Only when I put a safe distance between that and myself, I texted Wesley that I was heading home, and to ease his guilt, I added that I had a terrible headache when, in reality, all I needed was to open the stupid box from under my bed.
I didn’t spare Trace and his new bedfriend with giant boobs a second glance when I ran past them on the stairs; I just headed for my room and threw the door shut behind me.
It was time to face the truth.
I fell to my knees and crawled over to feel for the box without looking at whatever might surprise me from under a strange bed. Once the hard edges pressed into my palms, I yanked it out, up on the bed and fell onto the mattress next to it. I had avoided it long enough, waited for the phone book’s last Theresa Lawrence to call me back long enough. This was it.
&
nbsp; I inhaled deeply and flipped off the lid.
My breath caught in my throat.
The burning in my eyes was hard to fight down, but I didn’t want tears blurring my vision. Ignoring the warning stutter of my heart, I carefully lifted the contents out of the box and laid them out on my bed. They were fragile, and I hoped it all still worked. My fingers trembled so hard, I barely managed to push the tiny switch to on. The small screen flickered briefly, but nothing more happened. The batteries were probably too low. There were three cased SD-cards and a 180mm lens, plus the 80mm one already attached to the camera. Nothing to charge the batteries.
I set down the DSLR and stared at the equipment.
The pressure in my chest pushed up, until the air coming from my chest was nothing but a wimpy rattling. Mom and I were the same beyond the blue eyes and the birthmark. I used to have a camera so similar to this. I didn’t remember her ever taking a picture, but the evidence lay before me. She liked photography.
“Kitty?”
“Oh, God!” I jumped off the bed, my heart leaping out of my chest. Trace stood in my doorway, pushing his hands deep into his pockets. “Why didn’t you knock?”
“I did.”
He did? I shrugged it off. “Get out. I’m still trying to avoid you.”
Trace ignored my order, his eyes dropping to the camera on my bed. “Where’s Wes?”
“Still at the club,” I answered and put the camera back into the box, out of his sights. This was mine and my mother’s. He didn’t get to be interested in it. “I left early because I have a headache.”
“Oh, that’s why you whimpered like a drowning cat?”
“I did not – what?”
Trace rolled his eyes, and as his lips opened again instead of words he made sounds that were somewhere between breathing and gurgling and sounded like a puppy was screaming for his life. His Adam’s apple bobbed one last time and then he looked at me as if he’d proved some point.
